The Hollow Men
by Kathey27
Summary: That one future where Dean is broken beyond repair, Cas just wants to forget and Chuck is always stuck in the middle of things. / Or, Castiel isn't sure how it happened but he does know when it'd begun. If anyone else was asked, they'd say it was in Detroit. But Castiel knows better, he always does. Series of one-shots set in "The End" Verse.
1. The Beginning

**A/N: It took me a long while to decide whether or not I even wanted to write this because 'The End' breaks my heart every time I watch it and I can't even look at Cas in that episode without wanting to crying :(**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, it's all Eric's :' (**

**xxxxxx**

_**The Beginning**_

Castiel isn't sure how it happened but he does know when it'd begun. If anyone else was asked, they'd say it was in Detroit. But Castiel knows better, he always does. It'd been in the months leading up to Detroit. Dean had started gravitating towards Castiel, ignoring Sam's calls and finding solace wherever possible, may it have been the bottom of a bottle or the breasts of a blonde waitress.

He got angry, so angry that sometimes not even Castiel was enough to bring him back before he ended up with a broken, bloody hand and a shattered mirror. Then he slowed down his eating, actually refusing a burger the one time Castiel had managed to bring it up. Cas had stared at him for a good minute before promptly spraying his face with holy water. Next came the hunting. It was little mistakes at first; reversed incantations and mixed up weapons of fatality. Those mistakes led to the carelessness, resulting in Castiel learning how to sew open, pulsing wounds when his Grace was running low.

Then one night, Dean had gotten drunk enough to call Castiel to pick him up from the bar, slurring his words into a jumbled mess. When they'd reached the motel, Dean had covered Cas in soft, sloppy kisses, calling him names ranging from Cas to Lisa to even Jo. He'd clung to Castiel desperately, hands roaming wherever possible, gripping whatever possible, as if having something to hold onto would keep him together. (Castiel returned the kisses as best he could, knowing they were what Dean needed). The next morning Dean clutched Castiel to his side, refusing to let go until the sun had once again fallen over them.

The spiral slowed down from then on, Castiel's touches and brief kisses enough to remind Dean – sometimes – of why he still bothered to fight.

It was five months later that Sam said yes.

The moment the words left Sam's lips, Castiel saw – felt – something break inside of Dean. He'd held him down when Dean tried to claw his way to Sa – Lucifer, cursing and crying and shrieking. When he managed to get him far away enough to be released Dean punched him, spat at him, asking why he hadn't let him go.

Castiel had only one answer and he knew it was one Dean wouldn't hear.

That night, under the darkness of the motels curtains was the first time Dean flinched away from his touch. It was in that moment that Castiel had known he'd lost him for good.

Not too long after that Castiel got rid of the trench coat and suit, opting for a pair of blue jeans and lose tunic, for some reason no longer comfortable giving off the appearance of Jimmy Novak. (He'd frowned when Dean had failed to mention the change, unable to identify the tight feeling his chest had taken). It was that day that Cas felt the last of his Grace slip away and Jimmy die. Dean had found him curled on the motel floor, sobbing for all he was worth and crying out to an unresponsive Father. He'd held Cas – at a distance – for hours, desperate to offer what comfort he could.

The next morning Castiel picked up two large bottles of aspirin from a convenience store. He never cried in front of Dean again.

Next Croatoan hit. The first city to go was Dallas.

Then Bobby got infected. Dean had pulled the trigger, Castiel's fingers overlaying his in an effort to stop the shaking. Not too long after Camp Chitaqua was formed, a hyperactive Chuck and unresponsive Dean by a drugged up Castiel's side as they stepped into the deserted area for the first time. The start was a slow one, more Croats being shot at than survivors found. After a while the 'rescue-missions' proved helpful, earning them more mouths to feed and less supplies to go around.

By then Dean had all but shut down; not even Chuck's nervous rants about toilet paper supplies enough to earn a chuckle out of him. Castiel would try, retelling a joke that would have once had Dean either glaring at him in confusion or kissing him in quiet humor. He got neither.

There was the occasional night when Dean got too drunk to lead and whoever was with him at the time knew to get Castiel. He'd come in, take one look at Dean, smirk and proceed to haul him to his feet. Those around would watch as Castiel supported all of Dean's weight – as if he'd been doing it his whole life, muttering the occasional soothing word as Dean ranted on about someone named Sammy and a man called Bobby. The door always slammed behind them.

In the mornings Dean would glance at Cas, shut his eyes and turn to face the other side of the bed. He'd murmur to go back to his orgies. Castiel would press his lips together and exit the cabin, always sparing just one more glance at the body of his once upon a time lover and best friend. It was in those one more glances that Castiel felt his chest ache and his throat clench, the drugs not enough to drown them out completely.

So whenever someone asks how Dean became such a hard ass, what had broken him Castiel will pause, unconsciously flashing back to that first day in the barn. Back to the beginning. Dean had looked so desperate and broken. So beautifully righteous. (Cas sometimes wonders whether or not he'd loved him on the spot).

When he finally comes to, Castiel throws his head back and laughs – because that's what they all expected from him, Dean included – stating he had no idea, Dean has just always been that way.


	2. Stares

**A/N: This is one of my favorites and I hope you like it : )**

**Disclaimer: I own nada, it's all Eric's to do what he will with it…even if that includes corrupting innocent angels…**

**xxxxxx**

_**Stares**_

If asked, Dean will tell them – depending who they are – that there is still a bit of angel left somewhere in Castiel. While he's human enough to be able to numb himself with drugs and sex, a part of him will always harbor some Grace. His punishment, Dean'll chuckle and it's a broken, sad chuckle, as if he can still remember the times when the Grace had been at its fullest.

It's in the stares, Dean admits, when he's drunk enough, that he can still see some of the Grace. He proudly states that Cas has never lost a staring contest his entire human existence, something that ignites only a chuckle from said former angel and a just barely there smirk from the tired hunter. When someone challenges Castiel to a staring contest, they're always the ones to look away first. (Dean's the only one to ever last past two minutes and that's only when he's drunk enough to allow himself to be forced to).

They say it's unnerving how Castiel looks at them.

Dean (when he's drunk and not avoiding Castiel's gazes) says it comforts him that he still feels like his soul's being read.

There are meetings where Castiel will mutter something off to the side and Dean will glance at him, the smallest of sparks ignited in his eyes. Everyone else will watch the unofficial staring contest, unable to help wondering what Dean and Castiel might have been like once upon a time to have such a connection. What they might have been to each other.

Then Dean looks away – Dean always looks away first – and everything goes back to how it was.


	3. Starry Night

**A/N: I think I actually cried while writing this one; I hate writing druggie Cas but I just can't fight my muse : (**

**Disclaimer: If I did own anything, Balthazar and Gabriel would be alive and Cas would have stayed with Dean at the end of season 5…but I don't so all I can do is sit back and watch as Eric and Sera work their magic -_-**

**xxxxxx**

_**Starry Night**_

There are nights when no matter how many pills he drowns or how much liquor he inhales, he can't seem to fall asleep. It's those nights that he can still see Sam saying yes, feel his Grace leave him along with the angels and hear Bobby's final gasp of pain. He finds Dean out by the graves, staring out aimlessly into the dark space. He says he's checking the salt lines and Castiel just nods, letting him believe what he has to.

Castiel would sit down besides him – at a good distance – and start to softly sing into the air. Whether it was Metallica or Simon and Garfunkel Dean would always listen. He'd close his eyes and listen to the low, throaty croon of the man besides him, thinking back to simpler times when the biggest problem was a blood addiction or broken seal. Sometimes Dean joined him, his voice soon overpowering Cas' soft one. Castiel never complains, just enjoys as Dean takes control once more.

When their voices get too hoarse to sing they lean back and stare up at the skies. Castiel looks over and resists the urge to cry; it always seemed too long that Dean kept on an emotionless face. But not on those nights; on those nights the mask fell and Castiel was able to see wisps of the man Dean used to be.

Occasionally Castiel retells a memory; anything to fill the silence. Sometimes it's the one with the postman's daughter, other times it's one including Sam or Bobby, occasionally Ellen and Jo. By the end of each retelling Dean's joined in, correcting a detail here and there or adding in what he wished he'd said or done. He always manages to sound wistful enough for Castiel's chest to tighten. He idly thinks to himself that he hadn't taken enough pills if the aches are noticeable.

Other times they'd just lie there, the occasional glance shared between each other.

It's in those glances that Castiel remembers the nights in dirty motel rooms, when they'd use each other as blankets when the cold got to be too much for Dean. They'd spent the nights wrapped up so deeply in each other no words were needed as Castiel caressed Dean's face and left forearm, Dean pretending to sleep.

It's only in those glances that Castiel ever looks away first, the longing and pain too much for him.

When he pulls out his trusty pill bottle and downs three at once, he sees Dean slip the mask back on and knows the night's over. He stands first, nods once and makes his way back to his cabin, pill bottle clutched tightly in his right palm. He downs another for the hell of it and chuckles to himself, making sure Dean can hear him.


	4. Tragically Beautiful

**A/N: Another favorite of mine ^_^**

**Disclaimer: Nothing's mine…**

**xxxxxx**

_**Tragically Beautiful**_

Dean hates Castiel's smile.

He'd hated it for a long time.

He'd never say it to his face and a part of him knows he doesn't even have to. Cas probably knew. He usually did.

The first time he'd seen that smile had been two weeks after Jimmy's death. Dean had been sleeping at the very edge of the bed, determined to ignore how Castiel's smell lingered on the pillow behind him. He'd opted against separate rooms, scared of waking up to find his ex lover dead on the bathroom floor, etched wings spread out underneath him. While he knew it was an impossible scenario, it was usually what followed the nightmares of Sam. They were always the same. Castiel and Dean pinned to the ground, helpless to watch as Sam finally gave in. He could see it all again, feel the same burning, overwhelming pain consume him each and every time. The tears streaming down his face as he watched his little brother disappear before his very eyes and transform into a monster. The hollow, aching feeling that came with knowing that they'd lost; knowing what _he'd_ lost. He'd lost _Sammy._

The dream would then shift into a human Castiel drowning himself in bottles of anything within reach and downing pills by the second. He could never do anything, always a bystander as Cas ruined himself over and over, the occasional girl joining in, soft hands and petite breasts aiding in the self-destruction.

That night he'd awoken from said nightmares to find Castiel sitting on the floor a few feet away, crunching softly on pills – _advil?_ – as he watched him. Dean didn't bother asking if he'd been watching him the whole night; he knew the answer. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried to look anywhere but into his eyes, those too-blue innocent eyes.

He'd see what he'd been seeing since that night he'd flinched away from him.

Cas simply continued to stare, and Dean finally had to speak, the sight of him taking out more pills disturbing him for the first time in days.

"You know, you're not really supposed to um…chew on them. It's more of a throw back and swallow thing."

Castiel simply raised an eyebrow, rubbed his hands slowly on his jeans, opened up the bottle again and continued to crunch on them. (Vitamins maybe?).

Dean pressed his lips together tightly and got ready to turn over onto his side when he saw it.

The smile.

Dean felt all his breath leave him and the hollow feeling in his heart spread all through out his body.

Cas had his head titled to the side in the way that made Dean both ache and smile at the same time, a small little smile gracing his lips.

The smile sent chills down Dean's spine and pain to his heart.

It wasn't the same nervous, self-doubting smile he'd seen grace Cas' face before. Nor was it the hesitant, soft smile he'd get just before he leaned over and kissed Dean, as if he really needed permission. It was an empty, pained smile. It held lost hope with just a twinge of madness. God that smile. Such a broken, hopeless, mad smile. It was enough to break anyone's heart.

How could he not have noticed this? Had he been that wrapped up in his own pain and liquor?

Sam had been someone to Cas too, something Dean had been conveniently forgetting. It was all in the smile facing him at that very moment.

It was the smile of a fallen, drugged up, angel who no longer had any hope for the next hour. It was the smile of a barely there, nearly human, who found the only way to survive was to drown himself in liquor and drugs; anything to make the pain stop and numbness begin. It was the smile of empty hope, lost promises and ever growing darkness.

Dean cleared his throat slightly and there were _not_ tears in his eyes as Castiel's eyes snapped back open and the smile widened. Dean let his body roll itself over onto its other side, the ache in his body pulsing to the point of actual, physical pain.

He missed him. Missed what they'd used to be and if anyone had told him a year ago that he'd one day be longing for a drugged up, half empty man, he would have flat out laughed his ass off…then again, a year ago he hadn't been falling asleep to the image of his little brother giving into the devil.

How had they gotten to this point? He couldn't so much as look at the once naive nerdy man without remembering what his clumsy kisses used to feel like pressed against his skin. Without remembering how he'd been the one to drag him out of the black hole he'd allowed himself to be sucked into, slowly bringing him back with endless patience, penetrating stares and soft touches.

But then again, everything always came second to Sammy, _always_. Even if that something was the loss over what could have been the only real, good, tangible thing to ever happen to him.

He'd done that, had put that smile on his ex lover's lips the moment he flinched away because his pain for Sammy would _always_ take precedence over anything else.

Dean pulled the covers back over himself as he bit back the tears that threaten to escape, trying to erase the image of that smile from his memories.

That tragically beautiful smile.


	5. Consolation Prize

**A/N: Another snippet to my depressed little 'verse'…oh and this has some references to the first one-shot, 'The Beginning'.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Jim Beaver; Happy Birthday Jim!**

**Disclaimer: Eric – and I guess Sera – has custody of it all *sigh***

**xxxxxx**

_**Consolation Prize**_

When Castiel sees any girl following Dean around the camp – at a reasonable distance of course – he thinks he can feel their hateful glares on him as well. As if it were his fault Dean slept around like he did, as if he hadn't given everything to try and keep Dean together. Not that anyone but them and Chuck would ever now this. No, to the rest of them he's just a drugged up orgasm loving hippie who always has too much of everything and never has one coherent thought.

The only reason they all thought he was allowed to carry a gun was on Dean's say so and sometimes even that had them wondering.

He knew they all wondered just how far back they went; it's their own fault really because there were those moments where they shared those rare private jokes that not even Chuck understood the reference to. He'd even gotten used to being the one gone to when someone wanted to know how Dean would feel about something or what he'd meant when he'd said blah blah blah.

To say he was tired of the unnecessary glares was too little and the only way he ever found himself able to resist lashing out was with a quick tip of his trusty pill bottle or the seductive whisper from his latest addition to the orgy pack. Not that either did much in his favor but if Dean got to slut around then why the hell couldn't he? Of course when he used that excuse Chuck would just give him a tired and weary smile, his eyes filled to the brim with pity.

The smile he could take but not the eyes. Not the pity.

As if he didn't know what Dean did those nights his cabin door was shut. As if he didn't know **who** Dean did with the lights off. (Dean had always wanted the lights on, something about the dark having already taken too much away). As if he didn't already know the reason why Dean would avoid his eyes for hours sometimes.

They all did, except they just thought it was out of some twisted-guilt-parent-child thing; the way Dean and him looked out for each other (when they remembered), Cas didn't blame them. Their ignorance wasn't their fault.

But on top of the hateful glares, pitying eyes, confused questions and avoided glances, Castiel could only find it in himself to resent one person.

Dean…

…it wasn't really his fault; it wasn't as if he ever remembered anyways.

But it was in the nights that Dean got too drunk to lead and Cas was called in to pick him up. He'd look at him, shield his anger (only **he** was allowed to be broken and damaged) and drag him out, nodding and listening intently when the name Bobby or Sam came up. (He'd smirk at this later, thinking back to when Dean had lasted a whole month without speaking either name).

It was in the way Dean would hold him close, slobbering kisses everywhere (Castiel has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself returning any) and breathing his wet, whiskey scented breath all over his cheek and neck.

It was in the way Dean would smile and start spewing names out: Dana, Lisa, Amanda, Jo, Crystal, Rachel,_**Risa**_…

…never Castiel. (…never Cas. Not anymore anyways).

Castiel would pull away from the kisses, resentment and anger bubbling underneath all the drugs and scotch.

Dean would whine and moan, demanding why _Lisa _won't give him a kiss. Cas could only sigh and press his lips to his charge's forehead (a gesture he'd stopped using long before the world had gone to hell). "No. I won't be your consolation prize. Not anymore."

Dean would simply growl at this and mumble something about putting out.

The resentment grew when Castiel had to stay the night, soothing the pain and chasing the nightmares away. He'd sit by his side (the left side, always the left) and keep watch, pressing the occasional and absent kiss to Dean's forehead.

Never once during the nightmares does Dean stop asking for Castiel. (Not Cas though, no).

The resentment grows. (He can allow himself to want him in his dreams but never in actuality).

When morning finally hits and Dean snaps at him to go back to his orgies, all he can do is thin his lips (never showing his anger, never) and leave, always throwing one more glance back beforehand. As he exits the cabin and passes by _**Risa**_, he feels her curious turning hateful glance on his back.


	6. Oh, Fearless Leader

**A/N: Not as depressing as the others so, thumbs up for that :D**

**Happy birthday Misha!**

**Disclaimer: *sigh*…don't make me say it…FINE, none of it's mine, it's all the genius Eric's property.**

**xxxxxx**

_**Oh, Fearless Leader**_

Castiel could remember the first time he'd called Dean anything other than his name.

It'd been during one of the weekly meetings and he'd been sitting off at Dean's left side, trying to balance his pencil on the edge of his pouting lips. Of course this task proved difficult due to the pills he'd downed before hand. He wasn't sure but he was at the very least seventy-five percent sure they had been something along the lines of a mix of Prozac and Librium.

Dean had simply sighed when he'd seen him walk in and had instructed him to sit down and shut it. Castiel had supplied a blank glare in response.

Now though he was regretting even attending. Chuck had spent the last three minutes listing off things they'd run out of and whenever he took that long Dean would deem it necessary to plan another raid. A fact that wouldn't have been a real problem…if Castiel didn't always for God only knows what reason volunteer to go with. No one would ever comment on it but Dean would always give him one sharp nod of acknowledgment. That always seemed to make it worthwhile – or at least it did while Castiel was still drugged up.

When Chuck finally finished off his impossibly long list, Castiel titled his head back and sighed lowly. Apparently it'd been loud enough for Dean who looked over at him, raised an eyebrow and said: "Something you want to comment on, Cas?"

Castiel's head had snapped up at this, at his long lost nickname. A rush of white-hot rage hit him as the word left Dean's lips. The last time he'd been called that had been the night the Camp had finally gained residents other than the original three. Dean had stood before him, lips pressed together in a thin line, looking him up and down. At the time Castiel had been half lucid and had simply stood there, staring back. After a few moments Dean's hands had reached forward and clasped his shoulders tight. "Cas…I…uh…night. Have a good night." (Castiel never bothered to ask what he'd meant to say).

Castiel's eyes narrowed at the question, the white hot rage quickly spreading all over as he remembered how much his heart used to hurt at the sound of his full name leaving his ex-lover's lips. (The drugs took care of that pain now). How _dare_ he? After nearly three years of 'Castiel' or 'you' or 'hey hippie', how dare he revert back to 'Cas' now? In front of a group of people who didn't even understand its significance? (Chuck didn't count; he'd simply glance nervously between them, sigh and brush it off).

He titled his head to the side, did a half smirk and said in the faintest, most lucid voice possible: "Nothing oh, Fearless Leader."

The whole room stopped and all attention focused on the two of them as yet again another unofficial staring contest begun. They had all heard the capital letters and had heard the tone with which he'd used them.

Castiel ignored them all, his full attention on the hazel (sometimes brown, sometimes green but never really both at the same time) eyes before him. Dean's lips had thinned to slits and his glare had intensified. Castiel allowed his smirk to grow; he'd known Dean would understand, he usually did.

This continued on for another few seconds before someone in the crowd shouted something about lunch approaching and if they were done. This managed to grab Dean's attention who nodded simply and watched as the group filed out of the cabin. Chuck was the last to go, throwing a single worried, nervous glance between his two friends before quickly heading out as well.

Castiel waited for Dean's eyes to return to his. When they did, they were resigned and empty. "Castiel – "

There it was. (Castiel did _not_ feel his heart ache).

"Got to go Fearless Leader, wouldn't want to let Mark get all the peanut cookies." He offered him a crazed grin before standing, pushing past him as roughly as possible and walking out, his trusty pill bottle already open by the time his boots hit the dirty ground.


	7. Behind Blue Innocent Eyes

**A/N: Another favorite, probably the top one ^_^**

**Disclaimer: All ownership is Eric's : (**

**xxxxxx**

_**Behind Blue Innocent Eyes**_

If there is one thing that Dean can say he truly hates out all of the things Castiel has going for himself, he'll say his eyes. One would think it's be the hair, or the clothes or even all the drugs and sex. But no, it's the eyes. And the only reason for that is because the eyes are the only things that haven't changed. When Dean tries to explain this to someone they can never understand, stating that if the eyes haven't changed wouldn't that be what he loves the most? But Dean will just shake his head and change the conversation; after all, none of them had known Castiel before the world had gone up in flames anyways.

When Dean looks at Castiel, he sometimes has to suppress a double take, the smallest part of him still hoping for a glimpse at the once familiar trench coat and crooked tie. Those items are long lost though and when this hits Dean all over again he looks away swiftly, unable to fight the cold shiver that'd run through his body.

Cas will glance over at him and give him a soft, half crazed half lucid smile. Dean bites down the bile rising in his throat. (That smile…if it isn't the eyes, it's always the smile).

Dean will avoid him for the next two days, head down and tone hard whenever he was near. They all think it's another fight. Only Chuck will press his lips together and nod slightly. Castiel will just sit there barely aware of what the hell is going on around him in his faded baggy jeans and a-size-too-big-shirt, occasionally giving an intelligible thought.

Dean will bark his orders and avoid any eye contact, just barely holding in the urge to run when he passes by the former angel. When he's gone they'll all turn their eyes onto Castiel, receiving a simple shrug and twisted smile in response.

Castiel will eventually find him and then Dean will be forced to meet his eyes and he'll feel his heart break just a bit. Castiel will watch him with an amused expression, head titled to the side just slightly.

Dean'll keep his gaze on Cas' shoes first before going up, running his eyes over the too rumpled jeans and too loose too big shirt. (If he concentrates hard enough sometimes, he's be able to image a clean suit with a too blue tie and tan trench coat over it all). His eyes will then move onto Cas' neck, where his old amulet hung, reminding Dean of how when not long after Sam had said yes, Castiel had swam for over two hours until he'd retrieved the amulet from the lake Dean had thrown it into, stating it'd be a waste.

Finally he'll reach the face and God help him if his breathing doesn't stop when hazel finally met blue. Dean would gaze into the eyes before him and feel like a bastard because he can still see _Cas_ in there. Not drugged up, orgy having, bottle loving Cas but _his_ Cas. The one who'd raised him from Hell and had stood by him when all of Heaven had been out for his blood. The one who'd stayed when he'd gone over the dark side, slowing gluing back on the pieces Sam and Hell combined had broken. His Cas, his best friend, his lover, his apple pie life.

In Castiel's eyes he can see the innocence he's sure his own had also once held but had lost long ago. In those eyes he can remember the nights that were spent explaining the importance of pie and how to drive and why it was _not_ okay to ask a pregnant woman if he could 'feel the baby's soul'.

He hates those eyes because they show him all he's forgotten over the past two – nearly three – years and more.

He hates them because they prove that Castiel isn't 100 percent gone and can still be saved if only he'd allow Dean to. They show that not all hope is lost for them because no matter how much Dean pushes Castiel will always push the same – if not more – right on back.

Dean hates them because no matter how much shit happens or how many bodies pile up or how many times he snaps, at the end of the day Castiel will turn to him with those still too innocent eyes, as if they'd just met back in the barn and he was telling Dean not to loose hope. Telling him that he was worth saving and that God _loved _him…that _he loved him_.

If there is one thing Dean can keep from all that Castiel is forever it'd be his eyes. Those innocent, almost childlike eyes. Because it's those eyes that keep him from ending himself whenever he has a free minute and it's those eyes that help to remind him of why he even still fights. Because those eyes hold all that Dean had once held close to his heart and without them there to remind him, well, he isn't exactly sure what he'd do.


	8. Left Arm Scar

**A/N: This one actually made me laugh :D**

**Disclaimer: yeah yeah, I own nothing, it's ALL Eric's -_-**

**xxxxxx**

_**Left Arm Scar**_

Dean hates wearing short sleeves.

There's always the stares, the wandering glances, the blunt questions. Even the odd rumor or two circling; his favorite being the one where he'd been a transgender stripper who'd liked getting branded.

If he could, he'd cut off the right sleeve of all his long sleeve shirts, keeping his left arm clothed and protected. (But this would only earn him a sharp glare from Cristina, who usually did the sewing and repairing when Castiel was too far gone to even hold the needle without poking his eye out).

The first time anyone had mentioned it had been during a rather slow day, a day slow enough for Dean to allow for more breaks than usual. The majority of the camp had been in the clearing area used for training, passing around beers and food and having a good time. Dean had been having a quiet talk with Chuck, going over the monthly inventory list. Well, Chuck had been, Dean simply nodded occasionally and kept his eyes wandering around the area, unconsciously keeping watch while everyone else enjoyed themselves. When it was time for a group of the men and women to go switch places with the watch guards, someone across from Dean and Chuck called over: "Hey Dean, what's with the arm?"

Dean looked up to see Lindy, a loud teenager that helped Chuck with the inventory sometimes staring at his left arm intensely. Dean frowned, glanced down at his arm and then sighed. There, for all too see, was the bright, still very much tender, proof of his resurrection from Hell. He stared at it intently for a second before looking up to see more than a handful of people waiting to hear his answer. He ignored Chuck's flustered gaze and searched for Castiel, finding him near the back of the crowd.

Castiel rose a simple eyebrow in response and shrugged as if to say _go ahead oh Fearless Leader, not like they'd care much._

Dean's lips twitched and he resisted the urge to stick out his tongue.

The seconds ticked on by before he cleared his throat and sighed: "Tattoo gone wrong, one too many sips of tequila."

And of course Risa had to open her mouth. "Like that one on your chest?"

The look he sent her promised a heated talk later.

"No." He made sure to use the hard and cold voice they'd all grown accustomed to. Everyone scattered and returned to their business, sneaking glances back occasionally.

He glanced back over at Castiel's general direction only to find it vacant of the former angel. He switched his attention to the neurotic ex-writer before him, nodding when appropriate, his mind already able to imagine the rumors that would start circulating in an hour; the first one to reach him would be the one where Jane told Amber who murmured it to Ashton who whispered it to Samhder and Lily who'd giggled it at Anita that he'd been a transgender stripper before the world had gone down and had enjoyed being branded during sex.


	9. Long Hair and Empty Stares

**A/N: The flashback ones are always the hardest to write : ( I didn't like the way it ended that much but *shrug* what are you gonna do, you know?**

**Oh, go listen to "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead" by Stars while reading this; it's an awesome song and helped me write most of this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing's mine -_-**

**xxxxxx**

_**Long Hair and Empty Stares**_

If he thinks back hard enough, he can still remember the day he felt Castiel start to slip away.

It'd been maybe a week or so after he'd discovered the smile. At first it'd been little things, almost insignificant. A roll of the eyes here, a scoff there but eventually it'd all started to add up.

It'd truly hit him the day they were hunt-less and left with too much time to waste.

Castiel had insisted on stopping by a bar since they had nothing better to do and he'd relented; anything to get that stare off of him and that smile away from his view.

He'd seated himself a few feet away, downing as many shots as possible and keeping an unconscious eye on the ex-angel who appeared to be having a one sided staring contest with the empty tray before him.

He'd snorted, looked away and ordered another round of drinks.

One hour, fifteen shots and two trays of nachos later his mind was in a familiar buzzed state that always had him reeling when morning came around. His drunken eyes surveyed the scene, taking in the semi filled dance area and the small crowd surrounded around where he'd last seen his ex lover sitting and staring. (It's what he's best at).

He frowned and if he hadn't been so sure of bile rising at any sudden movement, he might have gone over and seen what the hell was happening.

"You wanna see the show too?"

He jumped at the sudden noise and frowned at the too loud voice. The tall (not as tall as Sammy though, never that tall) bartender nodded towards the small crowd he'd seen and smirked.

"Some hippie with long hair's having a drinking contest. Far as I can tell he's not going under any time soon."

He snorted lightly at this. Ah, hippies, what fun…wait…hippie…long hair…he ignored the bartender's gaze as he (clumsily) made his way over and pushed past the crowd, paying no mind to the dirty looks thrown his way.

When he made it to the center it was to see a buff blond man facing off a smaller, hippie with long hair and piercing blue eyes…he watched with a drunken gaze as the blond man backed off after his opponent drank five shots in a row without a single blink.

The crowd cheered and the hippie grinned, returning the high fives and fists pounds offered. Then the hippie's eyes fell on him and he felt that warning bile rise and hold in his mouth.

Familiar (oh God is still how the ex angel feels) cerulean blue eyes met his, and all the breath left him, the drunken haze washing itself away. Castiel grinned brightly and motioned him over as the crowd disappeared slowly.

"Cas, what the hell man?" he demanded, gripping him by the shoulders.

Castiel didn't seem put off in the least and simply continued to grin happily. "Did you see that? Oh man, I must have made five hundred so far."

He choked on bile and spit. "Cas, where you _hustling_?"

The blue-eyed man nodded.

The hunter sat down and took in a deep breath. (He can remember a time when Cas had sworn up and down he'd never).

"You promised me you'd never change." Is all he manages to spit out.

"You promised me you'd never leave." The ex angel shoots back just as quick, his gaze suddenly very empty and bottomless. Before he can deny the statement Castiel's gone and out the door.


	10. Shattered Glass

**A/N: This one is so adorable it hurts – well, compared to the other ones anyways :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing…not Cas…Dean…Sam…Gabriel…Balthazar…*sigh***

**xxxxxx**

_**Shattered Glass**_

The first time it'd had been two weeks after their first kiss.

Dean had already had his little "oh my God I'm gay" freak out (not much of a freak out seeing as Cas was an angel and technically gender-less) and after the awkwardness had passed the two friends had allowed themselves to transition into the 'something more' label. They didn't make a big deal of it or act any different (aside from the added caress and random kiss) and they'd only told Bobby who'd just grumbled and warned them not to ever let him catch them going at it.

They were doing fine and great and Dean could care less what anyone thought because he had his Cas and that was all he needed (he needed Sammy too but that wasn't an option).

It'd happened after a shape shifter hunt that had left them bruised and bloody. Well, it'd left him bruised and bloody. Castiel had come out fine (maybe a little breathless but that was all because of his draining Grace) and okay and holding Dean up as they made it back to their motel room.

After a quick patch up and not so quick kiss Dean had pulled the angel down to his bed, pressing kisses along his flushed cheeks and neck. The angel had leaned into his touch, small sighs escaping that left Dean desperate to shed his clothes. That was, until he remembered that the being beneath him was a virgin and the only thing he'd ever done was kiss someone and that'd been him (usually drunk). Yeah, while he wasn't much for chivalry he did know when things needed to be taken slow and this relationship called for just that.

When he pulled away it was to see Castiel breathing heavily and a bit glassy eyed. He smirked proudly; that was all him right there. "_Dean,_" the angel whispered so faintly and lustfully that it had Dean biting down on the inside of his cheeks. "I don't think it is a good idea that we proceed."

Dean, ignoring this pulled on the angel's shirt carelessly and continued to shower the creamy white skin in small butterfly kisses. He could control himself, he could…but so help him if Castiel continued to squirm like that he could **not** be held accountable for his actions.

As if reading his mind (which he really hoped wasn't the case because he was **not** in the mood to lecture the angel once more on privacy and respect) the angel stopped moving and pushed against his chest. "Dean, my – my Grace, I can't control it when – " Before the angel could finish the sentence though Dean was tracing his neck with his tongue and running his hands over his boyfriend's pants.

Before he knew what was happening, the tiniest sound filled the room (almost like something breaking in half) followed by an _explosion._ A full on, ear shattering, teeth rattling explosion. Glass flew everywhere and a shrill, high-pitched scream filled the room. Instinctively Dean threw himself over Castiel's body, shielding the smaller man as best as he could from the falling glass and debris.

It was another few moments before the glass stopped raining and by then they (mostly Dean though) were covered in shards of glass and some of Dean's wounds were reopened.

"What, the _hell_?" The hunter demanded as he carefully got off of his angel.

While Dean was brushing glass off and looking around the destroyed room, Castiel was calmly sitting on the bed, small smirk in place.

When Dean was done taking in the damage and clearing away as much glass from the carpet's as possible he noticed the blue-eyed creature's smile and frowned. "What? You think your creepy ass cock blocking brothers are funny?"

Castiel's smirk grew at this and if he didn't know any better he'd say there were stars in the angel's eyes. "Dean, I warned you."

Pause.

"This was _you_?"

The angel shrugged as if saying _who else_.

"My Grace has been hard to…control lately, especially when I find I am otherwise preoccupied or…"

"Enjoying yourself?" Dean supplied, anger diminishing at the sight of the faint blush starting to overtake his companion's skin. "So what, you forget about your Grace and then boom?"

"Sort of…yes."

Another pause and then a laugh. Castiel frowned as he watched Dean double over, clutching his stomach in laughter. "I don't – "

Dean cut off his statement by jumping back on him, ignoring the remaining glass, the fact that anyone could walk by and see them through the shattered windows, and kissed him. When he pulled away it was with a grin. "You, my friend need to be more focused." The hunter swallowed away any complains with his lips and smiled against his lover's mouth as he clasped their hands together and mused over the fact that he could drive an actual angel to the point of losing that much control.

(Every time for the next month that they stopped by a motel with more than three windows, Dean pushed to see how far he could take his angel).

(They ended up shattering over twenty windows in total).


	11. Broken

**A/N: This one hurt just thinking of how to write it : ( hope you like it 'cause it's another favorite of mine.**

**Disclaimer: We've already established that I own nothing, why rub it in!**

**xxxxxx**

_**Broken**_

Sometimes, when Dean's loose enough to be considered any actual fun, he spends it trying to get Castiel to laugh. Castiel only groans at this, thinking about how long he'd spent trying to do the exact same thing without any results. He wasn't willing to hand over any either. Besides, it'd been a long time since he'd laughed without any bitterness.

They all watched on, trying hopelessly to hide their smirks at the sight of the resident hippie/druggie/sex addict rolling his eyes at their fearless leader as if it were every day that he relaxed enough to be making actual jokes and not going on a drinking binge. Castiel would glare, pop open his bottle and grunt occasionally, Dean rambling on besides him, waving his hands in front of them both.

They all watched on as the night progressed and Dean leaned onto Castiel, his words slowing down and becoming harder to understand and harder to eavesdrop on. But it's never too slow for Castiel who just nods his head occasionally, offering a brief word in between hand gestures.

By the end of the night Dean's back to supporting his own weight, mumbling to himself, Castiel barely being acknowledged. Castiel sits there, sipping his beer slowly. About an hour after this Castiel, arm in arm with Dean is singing something along the lines of Kirk Hammett and Steve Walsh, his trademark smirk playing along his lips.

When they're back in their – Castiel's – cabin, Dean all but collapses on the bed, yanking Castiel down with him.

"I'm tired Castiel…always…so tired…can I stop now? Rest for a bit?" he mutters and its so sad and utterly _tired_ that all Castiel can do is nod, putting his bottle aside for the night. He makes sure to let his girls know their plans were canceled for that night. They don't ask why; Dean always takes precedence.

Castiel strips down and sits down at the very edge of the bed, a small sliver remembering when he used to do just that once upon an apocalypse.

Dean eventually remembers his presence and all but drags him over. He starts to ramble again, hands ghosting over Castiel's back, fingertips brushing over the area that'd once contained wings that used to be so beautiful and Grace-full and _perfection_.

Castiel jerks from his touch, shaking his head hard to the side.

Dean presses his hands down harder. "Do you remember? Can you…share with me?"

Castiel thins his lips, thinking back to the time they'd discovered Castiel could actually pass along memories through touch. They'd spent an entire afternoon of Castiel passing memories that he no longer had any need for or loved enough to want Dean to know too. Dean had grinned through the whole day, going over the images again and again in his mind, marveling at the wonder that was Heaven. Actual, pure _Heaven_. He'd cried for a good hour that night, Castiel keeping a tight grip on his left forearm.

Dean's favorite ones had been when they were making love and Cas' kisses, deep and soothing would send spirals of memories through him; flashes of dark, magnificent wings and a strong steady soldier who was secretly adored by all because of his too big innocent curiosity and childlike wonder.

Afterwards, once the high of the power had faded and the situation settled in, Castiel would hold Dean tight and ask him to retell them back, petrified of losing what little angelic touches he had left. Dean would describe them as best he could, knowing how important the angel's identity was for him.

When Cas doesn't answer Dean moves his hands away and presses his face into the too big too loose shirt.

The seconds tick on by and Castiel can feel his heart crack just a little bit more from the desperate way he was being clutched.

When Dean pulls away finally and asks why, all Cas has for him are bitter, broken statements stringed together. ("I'm broken. You broke me. And you keep doing it. You keep taking and breaking and I can't…keep giving you…I need to take care of whatever there is left of me. You need to **stop** breaking me.") But as he stared down at his desperate, longing face, all that could escape his lips was a simple sigh. "Sure." he stated as softly as possible before pressing one single kiss to his forehead. As he did he conquered up a random memory, not even bothering to check what it was before hand.

_Cold…_

…_so cold…pain…hurt…_

…_lonely, always so lonely…_

…_why was he so lonely? Didn't anyone want him?_

…_empty…so empty inside…vacancy with no one to fill it…_

…_tight, tight skin that doesn't fit…not his, no only borrowed, except not anymore because now he's all alone and there's no one answering his calls the angels are gone all gone no one's coming no God no Father nothing but pain and vacancies and broken promises and dark slits on his back that used to hold perfection and Grace and no no no more Grace no more perfection just empty and cold and alone, always so alone…_

When he pulled away it was to see Dean's tear stricken face. One shuddering breath followed by an: "I…it hurt…so much."

Castiel knew then what memory he'd shared: the night of Jimmy's death; the night the angels had disappeared.

Dean moved further away and slowly, cautiously turned his back to him, clutching the pillow nearest to him.

Castiel opened his mouth then closed it again, deciding against any words of comfort; Dean wouldn't accept them.

When he opened his eyes the next morning Dean was gone.


	12. Shadow Wings

**A/N: I LOVED writing this one; I have such a soft spot for Cas' wings :D**

**Okay, I'm not the only one who sobbed when Dean pulled Cas' trench coat out of the water last night right? Because I tried to stop crying but then I remembered and I started all over again. BUT Cas isn't dead; until I see some scorched wings on the floor, Cas is **_**not**_** gone -_-**

**Disclaimer: blah, blah, nothing's mine, blah, blah**

**xxxxxx**

_**Shadow Wings**_

The first time had been that day in the barn.

The second time had been after a raid gone wrong and he'd somehow ended up between fifteen Croats with nothing more than a machete and an empty saw off. It was safe to say he was screwed. He sees part of his team not far away but he signals them off; no reason for anyone to die with him.

He leans as far back as he can to the brick wall behind him and starts to hack away at the Croats, the moonlight providing little to no light to go by. He's not worried for himself or the camp. Chuck knows to take over and Castiel will help; he'll be sent god only knows where and he's sort of okay with that.

The Croats are closing in and his machete's lost somewhere in the small mob soon and he can see Death coming (it'd been a while, maybe He'll have some pizza) and that's when **it** happens.

Or well, Castiel.

Whatever.

One second he's surrounded and can't breathe and the next he's standing in a pile of dead dismembered Croats and covered in insides and blood.

He can only guess he looks freaked the fuck out and from the faces of the team he can tell they're right where he is.

But then his eyes land on Castiel who's all the way in the back with a _murderous _gleam in his eyes. His head is titled slightly downwards and he's glowering at the pile with a sneer and lightening blue eyes. And behind him, are a pair of black, large shadow wings.

Dean doesn't remember what happens next and that's probably because of the dizzy spell that hits him seconds later and the searing pain coming from his left arm.

When he wakes it's to see the familiar ceiling of the 'hospital' cabin and to feel a sharp pain race through his arm and to his chest.

The first thing he does is tug violently at his sleeve, yanking it up to see a bright, inflamed hand print pulsing back at him. _What the…_

"Easy there Dean."

He turns his head towards the familiar voice and notices the anxious look on Kaeli's face. She'd been the resident nurse for over a year and was probably the only person he hadn't snapped at even once (mostly because she had blonde hair and kind eyes and smelled like berries). She's good at what she does and her nimble fingers can rival his when it comes to patch up jobs; if she looks worried, he should be terrified.

"That arm looks bad. Want me to take a look?"

He almost doesn't remember how to shake his head.

"How long?" he asks slowly, eyes scanning the pale darkness from the carved out windows.

"Just a few hours. Jack and the others brought you in a good while ago."

He groans at this. Great, he'd been carried in and that showed weakness and that was **not** okay.

"What the fuck happened?" But even as he was asking he was remembering. Those Croats…so many, so fast…and Castiel…_Cas _saving him like always but it wasn't possible because the angel had fallen…

"Where's Castiel?" He asks, stopping her mid explanation. The look she gives him demands explanation and he just barely restraints a snap at her expense. "In the cafeteria."

He's gone within few seconds.

Dean finds the ex angel outside the makeshift cafeteria doors, smoking what looked like pot.

"Fearless Leader…was wondering when you'd come looking for me."

Dean pauses a few feet away, scratching absently at the burning handprint. "It's acting up again?" Castiel asks simply before he can, nodding lazily towards the arm.

Dean snatches his hand away at this and frowns. "Castiel…what the hell?"

No response.

He tries again. "You – you fell. I know you did. I was there."

They both hear the denial in his voice.

"Thank you oh so very much for reminding me of that little fact; how could I have even forgotten?"

"I know what I saw back there."

Silence.

"Cas," they both flinch. "are you still an angel?"

"Want me to remind you?" Castiel snarls back and Dean has to fight the urge to take a step backwards, the shared memory of Jimmy's death still very clear in his mind.

"How – "

"I didn't lose it all. You forget _Dean_, I'm not entirely human. I never **fell**. I just…stopped being an angel. I still have some Grace left over from before. Why do you think I'm not dead yet? The drugs won't kill me; the Croats can't infect me; the sex doesn't disease me…I just _won't_ die…what you saw…those shadow wings…they were nothing. Just a reminder of what once was."

Dean nods only at this, remembering the power in the ex angel's eyes when he'd been saved. "Castiel, you looked like…you looked like the first day we met. The barn…" He can't keep the hope out of his voice. If Castiel uses his smiting powers that means less deaths and more raids and things could get better…they might survive, they might –

"You can wipe that look of your face. I'm not your dog Fearless Leader, I never was. Another thing you seem to be forgetting."

Dean lets his mask slip back on. "Castiel – "

"Save it." Castiel pushes himself off of the wall and heads in the complete opposite direction of his cabin.

"Hey!" He makes sure to add power to his voice, the voice the others feared. Too bad Castiel wasn't an other. "We were talking!"

"Go bother Chuck. I'm sure he can tell you how this one will end."

Before he can think up another shout the ex angel's gone and he's left alone with a burning arm.


	13. Anniversary

**A/N: God, I'm beginning to think I'm only good for depressed and angst writing.**

**Disclaimer: I don't have the energy to come up with an alternate version of the show today so yeah, nothing's mine, I know -_-**

**xxxxxx**

_**Anniversary**_

There was one week a year where Dean and Castiel got themselves drunk to the point of unconsciousness.

Everyone knew to stay clear of Dean's cabin (where they spent said week) and refer to Chuck for anything important, unwilling to have a shell of rock salt shot at them.

While they wouldn't enter the cabin they would walk by it occasionally and try to listen in. All that could be heard was swearing (lots of swearing), shattering glass, and the occasional sob.

No one was quite sure what went on in there and whenever they asked Chuck, all he did was give them a long sad look, something that wasn't all that unusual when the topic of his two (only) friends came up.

Inside the cabin walls, there were bottles everywhere, glass lying around the carpet and two barely conscious bodies whispering tired words to one another.

Castiel spends the time crying over his friend and surrogate father, gulping down the liquor in hopes that it'll balance out the pain. He whispers all the things he'd wished he'd said, all the things he would have done.

Dean spends the time shouting over his brother and uncle, swallowing the liquor whole in hopes of forgetting what he'd become. He whispers all the words he'd wished he'd expressed, all the words he'd meant to say but hadn't.

The first anniversary they had been spent it alone, too tired to try and comfort each other.

The second anniversary they'd found each other by the graves and had cried into the cold, dead ground, hands clasped together.

This one was being spent angry and drunk, two things they were both good at.

(May 2nd…Sam's birthday. May 5th…the day Sam said yes. May 7th…the day Bobby got infected).

(Lucifer sure had a sick sense of humor).


	14. Ghost of Mine

**A/N: This one kinda broke my heart a little bit : ( It's the only one so far that hasn't been centered around Cas and Dean; it's leaning more on Dean and some of his personal demons.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, Kripke does what he wants when he wants it: we have season 6 – well Sera can take the blame for that one I guess – and Ruby 2.0 as proof of that -_-**

**xxxxxx**

**_Ghost of Mine_**

It only happens when he's alone. Alone or with Cas. But usually when he's alone.

It always begins with a small shiver running through him, sending shockwaves over his body.

Then comes the warm drift of air that leaves him – for a second – smiling and remembering what it'd actually felt like to enjoy the sunlight.

And then he's there. Same soft, long brown hair and warm green eyes and freakishly tall stature.

Sammy.

Now, the first time this happened, he started to shoot up his cabin. By the time he'd finished and had calmed down some there were fifteen bullet holes in need of repair.

The second time had been during a raid and it'd ended with him losing three men. Three good, _young_ men.

The third time he'd been expecting it. Had excused himself and had walked back to his cabin to find his little brother lounging on his bed. He'd blinked a few dozen times, had rubbed his eyes raw and had checked all the salt lines, even gone so far as to redraw the devil's traps.

"Do you have anything good here Dean? I mean god, you'd think you'd have no free time." And then he smiled that carefree, childlike smile that Dean hadn't seen in _so_ long. (The smile that Lucifer, no matter how hard he tried, could never imitate).

"Okay…I've lost it. I've officially become certifiable. Oh God, now Castiel or douchebags forbid **Chuck** has to run the camp…great…we'll all be smoking pot within a week's time."

His brother just smiled and watched as he paced and rambled to himself mindlessly.

"I'm real. Don't worry, you're not crazy…yet."

He could only chuckle.

(By then Dean was convinced he had cancer. He remembered the Dr. Sexy episode – vaguely – where Dr. Steven started seeing Johnny and she ended up having skin cancer. It takes him an hour to fully inspect his body and come to the conclusion that no, he didn't have any weird moles anywhere on his body).

Since then it'd happened every other week, usually on the nights he was too tired for anyone's company and wanted to drink the week away.

Whenever they caught him the campers eyed him warily, Chuck gazed at him with his now-always-sad eyes and Castiel would only thin his lips and walk away. (Like **he** has any right to judge; the damn ex-angel still calls out for his good for nothing father if he's drunk enough).

When Castiel is around Dean has to fight to keep his attention on his ex, trying to disregard the suggestive eye wiggles and innuendos coming from Sammy. One time his little brother had gone so far as to groan aloud and demand that his brother "throw the damn ex-angel down and do him already!" with a roll of the eyes. He'd coughed violently and had to brush away Castiel's concerned comments.

Castiel never talked about the times he'd caught him talking to himself but there were moments where his ex-lover glanced over at him and he just _knew _that he knew.

But then again, _he_ won't be the one to admit it. Nope. If Castiel wasn't going say anything then neither was he. But there were times when the sight of his fake-ghost-imaginary-hallucination brother caused the ever present pain in his chest to amplify and he was left leaning over his bedside and clutching at his chest, desperate to sooth the ache.

There were times when the sight of Sammy's ghostly smile was filled with enough pain and regret and longing that he was transferred back to that cloudy day in May.

There were times when the sight of his baby brother, his _dead_ baby brother left him holding down tears and pushing back still fresh memories of Hell and torture and angels and motels and…god he hadn't even known it was possible for his heart to hurt so much all at once.

Then there were those times when he was able to talk and smile and laugh with his hallucination and actually remember why he still bothered to fight. He would sit for hours, cabin door locked and curtains drawn and beer out and memories of decades ago being revisited. It was in those moments that he'd remember those lies he'd spoken into that hospital room to a disabled Bobby and regretful Sam and actually (for a moment) believed them.

_"I'm serious. I mean, screw the angels and the demons and their crap apocalypse. Hell, they want to fight a war, they can find their own planet. This one's ours, and I say they get the hell off it. We take 'em all on. We kill the devil. Hell, we even kill Michael if we have to. But we do it our own damn selves."_

And then he remembered the angry, passionate ones he'd shouted at a conflicted angel who'd only been trying to do what he thought was right.

_"If there's anything worth dying for…this is it."_

And just for those few hours – as fleeting as they seemed – was he able to find some form of peace amidst of all the chaos.


	15. Blueberry Pie

**A/N: Just because I thought Dean needed some cheering up…not that this one's much happier than any of the others...BUT it does have pie in it and I found the ending kinda bitterly sweet funny ^_^**

**Disclaimer: It's all Eric's -_-**

**xxxxxx**

**_Blueberry Pie_**

If anyone asks he'll say apple. Always apple. That's what they wanted to hear, what they expected. When people know what to expect they're more likely to trust you.

Whenever there was any available Sandy (the main cook) would always hand him apple, no questions asked.

He has to fight the urge to gag most of the time.

At first it'd been a private joke between him and Sammy; eating his 'apple pie life' away. He'd never had much love for it; while pie was pie, he'd always liked his pies with the slightest twinge of sourness to them.

After a while, it was all Sam would bring him, then Dad, then Bobby, which got passed to Chuck letting Sandy know he only really liked apple.

He'd never wanted to smack the neurotic alcoholic upside the head so strongly before.

He began to resent apple a year after Croatoan hit; the once sweet and tasteful aroma became just another reminder of what he'd lost; what he couldn't have.

No one noticed.

No one except him of course.

Once every few days Castiel would come over and slide a plate of blueberry pie over. The pie would usually be accompanied by a twisted smile (that he couldn't return or look at) or a soft gaze (that he couldn't hold for fear of weeping).

He'd smirk, take the plate and nod.

When he closed his eyes and took that first bite he had to hold down the urge to sob because he knew what would escape would be a bitter, broken sob. The minute the berries touched his taste buds he'd be sent back in time to soft and loving hands with a motherly smile releasing soothing words. He'd remember how his mom would always make two pies. An apple for his dad and a smaller, blueberry one for just them two. He'd remember all the times he'd need some heartache food and blueberry pie would be the first thing to enter his mind…

…he'd remember the afternoons spent lying naked on the motel-blanket-covered-floors, eating blueberry pies and swapping memories (sometimes literally) and stories involving their brothers that they'd never dare tell anyone else about. He'd remember the hiatuses between hunts that allowed them to enjoy the crisp spring air and freshly picked berries. He'd remember the last time they'd ate pie together had been the morning of Sam's 'death', mouths being fed between jokes and surprise kisses…

…but then his eyes would open and he'd be back in the real world, meeting a tragically beautiful smile and a too innocent gaze.

Castiel would nod, because he knew (as always) and walk away.

The next day Sandy would hand him apple again and just the thought of the next time Castiel would bring him blueberry kept him from going bat-shit crazy. (Post-apocalyptic world; there were plenty of other and better reasons to go bat-shit crazy besides the absence of blueberries).


	16. Trusty Pill Bottle

**A/N: Just because I figured I hadn't tortured myself enough as it is with this verse, I actually had to go and write this…**

**Disclaimer: If I owned anything would I be here writing fanfiction of all things?**

**xxxxxx**

**_Trusty Pill Bottle_**

The first time he swallowed a pill had been the morning after Jimmy's death.

He'd wordlessly gotten out of the Impala, ignoring Dean's hard stare on his back as he entered the convenience store.

He'd wandered around aimlessly for what had seemed like hours but had probably only been a handful of minutes. After roaming through the magazine racks and smiling lightly at the copies of Busty Asian Beauties lying around, he stopped before a row of miniature white bottles, each with its own specific label and logo.

He'd ran his hands over them all and began to mumble under his breath the lyrics to any song that came to mind, determined to fill the silence inside of himself with something part-way meaningful.

He recalled an instant where Sa…Sam had been in pain after a hunt gone wrong and Dean had made him take pills out of a small white bottle.

Pain…pills…

…he made his way back over to the counter and in that tone only he could really manage he asked the employee about any pills that were good for headaches and sleeping. The woman had simply sighed and pulled out two large bottles of aspirin. In a tone that could have rivaled his own she proceeded to tell him about the pills and after a few minutes of nodding when appropriate he came to the conclusion that not many people visited said convenience store and the woman before him was getting in all the talking she'd been missing.

When she's done and he's ready to do his signature learned Dean Winchester eye roll, he catches sight of a small orange and yellow strip of a bar underneath the glass of the register. He wordlessly points to it and hands over the money Dean had all but thrown his way.

As he watches the woman pack up his items, he can't help but flash back to the one time he'd ever seen Sam eat a sweet and how much Dean had smirked when he'd realized he'd found the one candy bar his baby brother couldn't say no to…and then he'd gone on to complain how long it'd taken him to find it.

With his bag in hand and change in his borrowed pockets he made his way out of the store and back into the Impala.

Dean, as soon as the door was shut, drove off, radio blaring as loud as it would go.

He ignored his ex lover's broken gaze as he took out one of the bottles and slowly swallowed two of the tiny white circles. When he'd finished swallowing he took out the Caramac bar and started to munch on that, focusing on his dead friend's happy grin as he took that first bite.

The faded memory of Sam's childlike smile filling in the silence – even for a moment – winning out every time over Dean's tragic music.


	17. Ditto

**A/N: This one was harder to write than probably any other ones and that was mainly due to the fact that I had to find a realisticy and Winchestery way to do this one. Either way, I hope you like!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, if I did we'd all know Bobby was okay and I sure as hell wouldn't have ended the midseason finale that way -_-**

**xxxxxx**

**_Ditto_**

The day he decided he loved the blue-eyed angel was the same day that said angel learned how to use a phone.

Well, how to use a phone _properly_ anyways.

Castiel had had plenty of false alarms before when it came to that small, sleek, black device of communication but it wasn't until six weeks into their new relationship that the poor angel finally _got_ it.

They'd been at a diner and Dean had been busy stuffing his face and aiding his body in its quest at a premature death when he'd caught sight of his boyfriend playing with his phone across from him.

He only scowled at the sight, already prepared for a day of pointless questions and head tilts. "Cas man, come on, put that thing away. Enjoy your pie while you can."

Castiel glanced down at his plate filled to the prim with pumpkin and whipped cream and frowned before turning his attentions back on the device in his hands. "In a minute, I believe I've almost figured it out."

Dean offered a single raised eyebrow at this. "Oh yeah? 'Bout time." He focused his attentions back on the meal before him, moaning at the fried goodness of it all. If…if his brother who shall not be named were there he'd be bitching about salads and whatnots. Now, with his Cas, he could actually enjoy his food.

Castiel continued to ignore the sarcastic hunter in favor moving his nimble fingers along the flat keys, lips turned up slightly in half a smile.

Dean rolled his eyes and ignored being ignored, eyes scanning the diner lazily and watching the small crowd of people that were near the front. Before he could continue to eat away his life a bright screen was being shoved under his nose, cutting off his breathing for a few seconds. "See?" Cas asked; voice holding a tone of barely concealed excitement to it.

Dean frowned and snatched the phone away, glancing at the screen saver that clearly showed Dean shoving his tongue down Castiel's throat. He paused, sighed, snapped the phone shut and handed it back. He was about to chastise the angel for using _that_ picture (which wasn't fair, because he hadn't even been aware the angel had been holding the phone) when he caught sight of the angel's expression and stopped.

Across from him Castiel was smiling. Smiling. Full on, lips curved upwards and eyes sparkling smiling. Smiling and dear God did he look beautiful. Dean was as manly as they came but even he couldn't deny how absolutely amazing Castiel looked. He looked…he looked happy and alive and free. He looked _loved_.

The bottom dropped out and Dean swallowed spit. Well shit.

"Cas…I…um," He cleared his throat; suddenly very glad no one was within hearing range. "I…"

Castiel did his signature head tilt, eyes bright and lips curved and said: "I love you too."

Dean had never been so glad in his entire life that angels could read minds.

He paused again, hands damp and shaky and rubbed at his suddenly oh so very dry throat. "Um…ditto."

It was Cas' turn to stop and the confused look that glazed itself over the angel's face was enough for Dean to duck his head away and return to his food. He'd worry about it later.


	18. Flames

**A/N: Because when future Dean spoke about torturing like it was nothing, something inside of me broke a little bit.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything trust me, if I did…things would be different…lots different…**

**xxxxxx**

**_Flames_**

The knife feels natural in his hands, a fact that stopped scaring him years ago.

The cool silver has become a comforting sensation and the penetrating screams of the bodies withering before him are now soft lullabies to his ears.

The first time it was for information on a raid gone wrong and it'd lasted five hours and afterwards he'd thrown up for an entire ten minutes. The next time was due to a faulty devil's trap ("who in the **fuck** let _Anita_ draw this?") and the demon had been talking smack and afterwards, once it all was over and there was nothing but a body he'd drank two entire bottles and had to have Cas stay the night with him. The third time, he'd barely flinched as he carved into the little girl's skin and grinned at her strangled screams.

He ignores the looks of fear Castiel throws out and the pitying looks Chuck wears and the questioning, nosy looks the others give and runs blades along flesh and spews Latin and throws holy water and sprinkles salt.

While he'd been in Hell, before he'd broken, Alastair had walked up to him and laughed. Laughed right in his face at his denial. Alastair had run his hands into bleeding, sore wounds and laughed: "Oh Dean, don't you worry one bit. Give it some time, you'll give in. You'll say yes. You've got that fire you see. The flames beneath your eyes that let me know that when it's time, you'll pick up that scalpel and carve and kill and _love _it."

Five years later Dean's saying yes and picking up that scalpel and carving and killing and _loving_ it.

Now though, with Cas' judgy eyes glaring holes into his back from the exit as he works he feels dirty and shameful and like he could start to suffocate at any moment.

But he does it anyways because if he doesn't, then who will? Who else is hard enough to listen to petrified screams and continue to carve out body parts and organs and limps and hum through it all with a self-serving smirk on their face?

No one, that's who. He has to get everything done, he has to protect everyone, he has to keep the rest of humanity through this hell hole.

And if that means he has to cut and maim and destroy and erode away what little life remained within himself…then there was really no other choice, was there?


	19. When Dean Met Cas

**A/N: Nothing to say here except I am now craving blueberries…**

**And I'm really sorry this took so long; real life caught up with me and it is not a pretty place.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.**

**xxxxxx**

**_When Dean met Cas_**

Their first date's at a small diner near New Orleans and it's raining.

Dean has never been one to believe in divine intervention and all that shit but after it starts to pour, his baby breaks down, he trips twice and he manages to smack himself opening the door…he takes this all as a sign.

A sign that him and Cas are way in over their heads and it won't work and he's a human and Cas is an angel so even if it does last he'll age and Cas won't and then he'll die and if it doesn't work he's just lost his best friend and for over thirty years of his life he was sure he was straight so what the fuck but then again Cas is an angel not a dude so maybe that one was irrelevant…

He's snapped out of his looming, chest clenching thoughts by, like always, the feel of Castiel's eyes on him.

Instead of chastising him Dean grabs his menu and keeps his gaze on the laminated paper, fingers drumming softly against the counter top.

Silence follows this, like always and before he knows what he's doing, he's pushing the menu down and glaring over at the angel. "Seriously, can you cut that out?"

Blink.

Before he can comment again on the weirdness that is his angel boyfriend friend thing, a waitress was sauntering over and smiling down at them. A very hot, very blonde waitress with a very short skirt. (Hey, just because he was apparently into angels now didn't mean he couldn't appreciate beauty). "What can I get you?"

"Double bacon cheeseburger with fries and a coke thank you." He lists off smoothly, barely resisting the urge to flash her a quick grin. He's on a date thing, flirting with waitresses is probably considered a no-no. (See? It's moments like these where Sam's absence is most noticeable. The big gigantor would be giving him a sharp glare for so much as looking away from Castiel).

When she turns to face Cas it's to find the poor angel gazing at his menu in confusion. His head is tilted as far to the side as possible and his eyes are glued to the various options with a frightening level of concentration. Dean's pretty sure the angel's a few seconds away from all out scratching his head.

"Umm…"

"He'll have the same with a slice of blueberry pie." Dean interjects, letting the grin slip out. As soon as the waitress is gone he turns his attentions back to Castiel. "Okay Constantine, at least try and pretend like – "

"Like I'm human?" The look the angel throws out with the comment has the Winchester pausing for a good minute.

"Cute. I was going to say normal but that'll do. Just don't pull a Sally on me all right? The waitress probably already thinks you're some sort of freak of nature."

"…A Sally?"

Dean resists the urge to facepalm. "Nothing man, but next date? Movie night."

Castiel's eyebrows furrow at this and damn him if it wasn't just the cutest thing. "So you would like to continue…whatever this is?"

Dean blinks. _Spoken like a true Winchester_ is what he doesn't say. He can feel the awkwardness start to set in at the blue-eyed man's words so he does the next best thing to telling him to shut up. He shrugs.

"Um, sure, I mean, why not you know?"

The angel's answering smirk stays with him for the entire night.


End file.
